


A Cold Coming

by mcicioni



Category: The Magnificent Seven (1960)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 11:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21898291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcicioni/pseuds/mcicioni
Summary: Harmless seasonal fluff, with a bit of emotional discomfort (inevitable, given who Chris and Vin are)
Relationships: Chris Adams/Vin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	A Cold Coming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sindarina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sindarina/gifts).

> Endless thanks to darcyone, for her patience and help with language matters.
> 
> The title is the beginning of T.S.Eliot's well-known poem "Journey of the Magi". Mr Eliot, I am not apologising for my recontextualization, but I hope that you won't be turning in your grave.

The hotel is on Fourth Street, between a hardware store and a new shop selling liquors and cigars. Both shops are closed because it’s Christmas morning – the hotel will close after lunch. The only two customers who don’t mind sitting outside in the cold and damp are sipping coffee on the porch.

Vin shivers a little and says lazily, “No snow this Christmas.” It did snow last night, but it’s all melting into slush, to the discomfort of the good citizens of Albuquerque who are walking to one or other of the churches. There’s a few Catholic ones, mostly in the Old Town, and a couple of Protestant ones. 

“They look happy. Content,” Vin says, looking at the families heading off to church. There’s no irony or sarcasm in his voice.

Chris glances at him. “Want to go and have a look?”

Vin considers for a second, then shakes his head. “You?”

“No.” Churches, offices, a newspaper. A schoolhouse, a courtroom. Civilization. Chris feels the thought seep under his clothes and chill his spine. He and Vin have been drifting together for about three months, since they rode out of the Mexican village, leaving friends behind, one living and four dead. They have been working, no steady job for either of them and a lot of occasional jobs for both, in cattle ranches, on stagecoaches, as security guards for the bank. And now they’re in Albuquerque, renting a cabin just outside of town, and in their spare time they have been doing odd jobs there as well, replacing the front door, fixing the floor planks, putting up a couple of shelves, never discussing why or wherefore, the thought_ people all settled down – same all over_ hanging over their heads like a hailstorm about to break.

“Want to eat at the hotel?” Chris asks. “Everything else is closed.”

Vin makes a small grimace. "No point. There’s two or three steaks left in the icebox, and the potato sack is half full.” He pauses. “Unless you’d like to eat fancier food in front of a decorated tree, that is.”

They walk back to the cabin in companionable silence. When Chris comes back from the icebox, there’s a small parcel wrapped in red paper on the table, at the place where he usually sits. Vin is crouching in front of the kitchen range, coaxing the embers into more enthusiastic heat, then stands up to set the frying pan on the back of the cook top.

“Go on, open it,” he says casually, without turning.

Chris puts down the steaks and opens the paper, slowly, carefully. There’s more paper inside, layers of tissue paper protecting something small and heavy. It’s a hunter-case pocket watch; case and stem of silver-plated brass, plain and serviceable, no engravings or frills. 

Chris gazes at it for a little while, without speaking. 

“Hope it’s to your taste,” Vin says, putting the steaks into the frying pan and, his back still turned, moving towards the potato sack.

“It is.” Chris blinks, and sees his father’s silver and porcelain watch, his brother’s wrought-silver chain. In New Orleans, in another life. When wealth meant power over others. When anyone who didn’t believe in having power over others had to pay for this belief by being excluded from family and security. He breathes in and out, steps up to Vin, turns him around, meets his eyes. “It is,” he repeats. “Thank you.” A beat. “Why a watch? To remind me that life can be short? Or that everything’s temporary?”

Vin frowns in bafflement. “What? Nah. Just somethin that’ll get us both to work on time.” He pauses, reaches for a potato, starts peeling it. “Maybe a reminder too. To spend some time thinkin about the future.” He focuses on the potato. “Where you want to be.”

Chris stares at him, then taps his shoulder and points to the highest shelf: “Your present’s up there, among the cobwebs.”

Looking put-upon, Vin drops knife and potato, climbs on a chair and retrieves a larger parcel, wrapped in dark-blue paper. “Cloth,” he says, feeling it. “Too small for a blanket.” He mock-frowns. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been buyin my own underwear since I left home at fifteen.”

“Just open it.”

The woollen scarf is pale blue, quite long, lightweight and soft. Vin rubs his hands over his backside to clean them before brushing the scarf with his fingertips, lightly, almost respectfully.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, almost to himself; Chris wonders if he also might be remembering things. But, a smile hiding under the wisecrack, Vin immediately adds, “Good, sensible present.” He looks up, the smile now openly visible, and a dimple appearing in his left cheek. “It’ll keep me warm at work. And give me thoughts that ain’t all that safe ...” He stops, wheels around and rushes to the stove, grabbing a rag and seizing the frying pan that’s going up in smoke with all its contents. He throws scorched pan and charred steaks into the sink and opens the window, letting the room fill with cold clean air. “Some Christmas dinner, friend.”

“There’s a round of cheese somewhere,” Chris says. “Not bad if you melt it on top of baked potatoes.” He pauses for a moment. “That future enough for you?”

Vin smiles broadly. “It’ll do.” He grabs the scarf and winds it around his neck. “Especially with this here tether.” He looks at Chris, and the dimple in his left cheek reappears. “You know those unsafe thoughts I mentioned …? The cheese and baked potatoes can wait a while, right?”

Chris nods and goes over to close the window. It may snow again tonight. Inside the cabin it’s still smoky, but it’s warm. For the first time in who knows how long, he is feeling comfortable on Christmas Day.

He turns around. Vin has taken off his shirt and boots and is shucking out of his levis. The scarf is still around his neck, the ends reaching down to his flat stomach and narrow waist. He is no longer smiling.

Chris doesn’t smile either. “Being _settled_,” he says quietly, moving towards him. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”


End file.
